


Patron Saint of Satisfaction

by AphroditesTummyRolls



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Dom/sub Undertones, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Gentle Dom Nicolo, Gentle Sex, Joe gets overwhelmed sometimes and needs Nicky to take him out of his head for a while, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, Joe: no thoughts heart full, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Toys, Subspace, Yusuf al-Kaysani goes to subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27085672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphroditesTummyRolls/pseuds/AphroditesTummyRolls
Summary: There were two sturdy hands coming to grip his waist, the fingertips sliding into their time honored places on his hipbones.“Tesoro?” He felt the word more than he heard it, breathed out along the shell of his ear before familiar lips were pressing to his temple. “Joe, talk to me. What do you need?”What did he need? His head was too full, Joe didn’t know. The only thing that felt right, the only thing that helped was…“You.” It came out on a breathless sigh, and he pressed his back into Nicky’s chest where he was bracketing him against the sink. Before he could find a single other word to say, the hands on his hips became arms wrapped around his waist. Nico hummed and the vibration of his chest reverberated into Joe— he buried himself impossibly closer to the man behind him.Sometimes, Joe got overwhelmed. Sometimes, he got lost in his head, dizzy with it all. Sometimes, he needed Nicky to lay him out and find him, ground him again.He could always trust that his Nicolò would find him.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 47
Kudos: 294





	Patron Saint of Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun as Hell <3 I'll write a real note later, maybe, but I'm too tired right now. 
> 
> Please let me know if you like it! I need validation to live. 
> 
> This is 7.5 thousand words of Yusuf al-Kaysani getting his back blown out by his loving, loving husband a year before the movie takes place. Enjoy <3

It had been a long, _long_ few weeks. 

Joe’s shoulders were tense and knotted, and his whole body still ached from the train ride he and Nicky had taken all that day. There was a stifling, choked sensation in his gut that would rise in waves, up his throat to the tip of his tongue until he was ready to scream. The whole way to their safehouse, he brushed shoulders with his lover— practically leaning on him— and let himself take refuge in the feeling of Nicky’s warm hand entwining their fingers. 

The apartment in Toledo was a quiet one. A happy one, and an old favorite. The evening was still hot with the last of the sun's memory as they dropped their bags in the hall. Joe leaned against the wall with the sheer physical exhaustion of the day, biting his cheek against a mournful noise in his throat when Nicky let go of his hand to set about opening the drapes and bringing their little home back to life. 

Judging by the tiny, reassuring tilt of his lips as he glanced back at him, Nicky knew something was off, that he was holding back. Joe managed a smile back, scrubbing his palm down his face. 

As good as it felt to have some time alone with his Nico, he couldn’t help but check behind him for the others. He couldn’t help but think that the quiet was cavernous and empty without the clomp of Andy’s boots, or Booker’s labored sigh as he threw himself into the dusty recliner. 

Nicky felt the same— Joe could tell by the way he let the pots clang together as he searched for some semblance of dinner. 

It was strange, to be truly alone for the first time in nearly five years. Without a rendezvous date set. 

It wasn’t as if things had gone badly— not really, at least. And the money from that last job alone was more than enough to keep them comfortable for however long Andy wanted to split up. The job had been good. Technically. Everybody was saved. Mostly. 

Maybe it was because Booker had had a dream of Quynh again— the first in a long while. Maybe it was because their last mission had been on a ship, and they had tried to avoid those as much as they could since… Andy didn’t even like to look at the sea, let alone feel the spray of the briny air, or the rock of the waves beneath her feet. 

No matter what it had been, the grief had hung heavy over the four of them, crushing them for all those weeks. Andy sunk deeper and deeper into despair. The shadows under Booker’s hazy blue eyes had gone darker, and Joe knew what he was doing. He knew he’d stopped sleeping to avoid the dreams. To avoid hurting Andy. 

Joe had always been an emotional sponge, long before his death and his second life. But before this immortal family, he had never known quite how tiring it could be. He had his own grief about Quynh, and his own guilt for Andy’s loss, but he knew that the pain he carried into their apartment now wasn’t just _his._ He could soak up the slightest change in a room, absorb others’ emotions like they were his own, could see the littlest reactions, and empathize with just about _anything,_ if given the chance. And he had just stewed in the loss and grief and guilt of his poor friends for _weeks,_ confined to a barracks below deck. 

He was emotionally, empathetically exhausted. Nicky used to say it was an artist’s thing, but Joe knew that he was just as sensitive— with Joe, at least. And Andy, and Booker. They knew each other too well. 

But Nicky could compartmentalize it in a way that Joe just _couldn’t._ His Nico could file things away and take them out to think about later— he could have an earth-shattering thought, only to stash it in his beautiful mind so he could sit in his sniper position for hours and _hours._ The patience… it made Joe’s chest expand with pride, with awe. Sometimes it wasn’t so good— sometimes his love didn’t know when to stop, and would let things fester— but they knew how to handle those times. He knew how Nicky liked to be laid out, taken out of his head. 

_Both of us need that, every once in a while,_ he mused as he tried to dig his fingers into a knot in his back.

Suddenly, it left a pit in his gut to not _see_ Nico, to not feel his hand in his again. Everything ached, and it made Joe prickle with the sensation. There was a low grade but sweeping undercurrent of _want_ in his blood, carrying his anxiety and exhaustion around at a rapid rate the longer his lover stayed away from his side. He wanted to feel him close. He _needed_ him as close as he could get him. 

He bit his lip, forcing himself to stretch his weary bones and push off the wall he was leaning on. 

Joe’s thoughts had less of a filing system, and more of a synchronized dance. They swirled around in complex and intricate associations that only he could follow and process— he fixated on the worst _what ifs_ and _whys,_ and he trailed after them, around and around until he was all tied up in ribbon, lost in his brain— 

“Joe?” 

He started a little, whirling around to see Nicky’s furrowed brow and twinkling eyes watching him from the kitchen threshold. He had a hand towel thrown over his shoulder, studying Joe with his arrestingly beautiful gaze. His eyes were the color of the sea— not the sea they’d been on, that gray and brackish, churning water slapping the sides of their ship, but a _calm_ ocean. Deep waters, penetrated by sunlight and sparkling with greens and blues. Joe was too exhausted to restrain his sigh. 

Nicky huffed a little laugh at whatever longing look was surely on his face, but his expression was still that same mix of soft warmth and concern that he had been looking at him with since Andy decided to separate. 

“You’re so far away. Where’d you go, my Yusuf?” he asked, his voice mild and fond. 

Joe sighed again, less out of regular desire and more for the desire to not be so _lost._ He shook his head to try and clear it, “My head’s all cluttered.” 

His Nico studied him, nodding sagely with that familiar little twist to his lips— the not-quite smile that meant he had learned something enlightening. He wanted to ask something, to dig through the tangles of whatever Joe was lost in, but seemed to decide against it. He filed it away, and reached out a hand instead. 

“We haven’t eaten anything of substance in hours— come dig through the non-perishables with me and we’ll find something for dinner.” 

Joe took the hand like a lifeline, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Nicky knew, and a muscle tensed in his jaw when he smiled. 

He was worried. He was thinking. 

Another layer of tangled ribbons and dancers twirled around Joe’s head, but the simple clarity of Nicky’s words was a balm on his tight shoulders, easing something deep inside him. 

So, they collected what they could from the pantry and the cupboards— cans and jars of old spices, tinned vegetables, bags of rice, cartons of broth… 

They made dinner, with Nicky standing resolutely at the stove and Joe leaning beside him in front of the sink. He opened and drained whatever Nicky put in front of him, manning the can opener with smooth, steady turns of the crank. Sometimes, he would feel a warm palm press against the small of his back or the featherlight stroke of fingertips up his spine. The sensations would pause everything— his hands, his breath, his _thoughts._ The touches rippled out like raindrops on still water, goosebumps appearing on his forearms even though there was heat starting to curl up in the cradle of his hips. 

They ate dinner together at the kitchen table with their fingers intertwined on Nicky’s thigh. Joe pressed their shoulders flush. He focused on the warmth of his lover’s body under the soft fabric of his t-shirt, instead of the never ending, dizzying mess of questions and memories swirling around in his brain. Andy had been so distant, her smile barely a shadow on her face, looking out over the restless water night after night. It was as if Quynh was under the water right beneath their feet. She had looked so hollow when she sent them all their separate ways, and Joe had wanted to fight it. He wanted to look after his friend— what if she tried to search again? What if she went without any backup and was swept away too? What if she had truly given up, and left them behind… what if she lost her immortality and died? 

His entire body was wired to blow— his mind chased its tail, and the only thing keeping him aware of their apartment around him was the warmth of _his Nicolò_ and the soft brushes of his hand over Joe’s back. 

He had to move. If he moved, maybe things would feel more solid— he wanted to stop _thinking._

He forced himself to stand, slowly pulling away from the warm arm that was slung around him. He collected their bowls and spoons as he went, ignoring the noise of protest from his love. 

Joe shook his head, letting his lips tilt up and doing his best to be his usual self. Not because he was trying to hide, not really. When it came to Nicky? He couldn’t if he tried. He just wanted to get through the last of the day. 

“You cooked for us, Babe. Let me clean.” He managed, turning toward the sink and taking each step carefully— rinsing the bowls, getting the dish soap, heating the water… 

Then, there were two sturdy hands coming to grip his waist, the fingertips sliding into their time honored places on his hipbones. 

_“Tesoro?”_ He felt the word more than he heard it, breathed out along the shell of his ear before familiar lips were pressing to his temple. Joe sighed, a little bit of tension leaching out of his knotted muscles, sponge forgotten in the sink. “Joe, talk to me. What do you need?” 

What did he need? His head was too full, with his desperate attempt at dishes, worry and travel and _Andy and Quynh_ . It was all he could do to open and close his mouth like a fish gasping for water in a world full of air— Joe didn’t _know._ The only thing that felt right, the only thing that helped was… 

_“You.”_ It came out on a breathless sigh, and he pressed his back into Nicky’s chest where he was bracketing him against the sink. Before he could find a single other word to say, the hands on his hips became arms wrapped around his waist. Nico hummed and the vibration of his chest reverberated into Joe— he buried himself impossibly closer to the man behind him.

Nicky held him, squeezing and stroking over his body, nuzzling his nose up and down to the juncture of his horribly tense neck and shoulder. He could feel Nicky’s lashes flutter against his pulse point when he blinked. Joe took what felt like his first deep breath in hours, feeling their heartbeats sync up. The hot, half hard bulge of his Nico’s cock was pressed to the back of his jeans, but he wasn’t grinding into him. Just _holding him_ like he was precious, ignoring the sudsy water and the dirty dishes in favor of laying sweet, wet kisses against Joe’s throat and the side of his face. Joe’s hands scrambled for purchase on Nicky’s forearms, arching his back to rub his ass against his love, leaving no misunderstandings about what he wanted— what he _needed—_ from Nicolò right then. 

Sometimes, Joe got overwhelmed. Sometimes, he got lost in his head, dizzy with it all. Sometimes, he needed Nicky to lay him out and _find him,_ ground him again. 

He could always trust that his Nicolò would find him. 

“You want me to make the choices for tonight?” He asked, purring his velvety words into Joe’s curls, making him bite his lip against a truly wanton little sound rising on the next wave in his throat. 

He only nodded, his knees buckling, nearly all his weight on Nicky now. He got a swift nip to his earlobe, arms squeezing around his waist. 

“Nodding’s not enough. Yes or no, _Tesoro—_ D’you want me to take charge? Or I could read to you? Or just go to sleep, we can just go to sleep—?” 

_“No!”_ He cried, whirling around to face those piercing eyes, blown dark and liquid hot with arousal, but still studying him closely. Joe’s palm landed squarely on his chest, and he could feel the thump of his heart there. 

He felt heat zing up and down his spine, settling deep inside him like a warm weight. He licked his lips, and wanted to _lick_ and _kiss_ and _worship_ the salty skin over that steady, sweet pulse. He wanted to kiss Nicky, he wanted his brain to stop making him dizzy— 

“No _what,_ beloved?” Nicky finally asked, cupping his jaw with a warm hand. 

“No to… to going to sleep, to reading, to— I-I need you to… I want you to hold me. I want to hold you inside me, I _need—“_

And all the tension in Nicky’s beautiful face melted away into a smile— a _real_ grin, the soft focused, warm kind that felt like dawn sunlight. He was stroking his thumb over Joe’s cheekbone as he nodded, and he couldn’t help the little whimper behind his teeth. He craned his head just the littlest bit forward, barely needing to move at all before Nicky was meeting him in the middle, kissing him soundly. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll take care of you.” He murmured, parting just far enough to rest their foreheads together, “I’ll clean up here, _Tesoro—_ you go take a shower, and meet me in the bedroom. Yes?”

_“Yes.” Yes, yes._

Nicky let go of him slowly, trailing his fingers over his shirt and pausing for just a moment to squeeze his hips. He was keeping him standing, Joe knew, making sure his feet would be under him when he let go, but the look on his face said that he just didn’t want to let him go. Joe wanted to kiss him again. He never wanted to stop. 

“Go on—“ he urged, his palm on the small of Joe’s back guiding him into the hall toward the bathroom, “There’s fresh clothes and supplies in there. Get ready for me, beloved. I’ll take care of you.” 

It wasn’t a promise his Nico had ever taken lightly, and Joe’s tense and tired muscles seemed to find just enough energy to listen, to follow the quiet command in the soft words. Nicky wouldn’t lead him astray. Nicky would _take care of him._

The words wrapped around him like the steam of the shower, hot and all-encompassing, the anticipation of being anchored— of being so blessedly _full—_ guiding him through his motions. The ghost of the hot brand of Nicky’s hands squeezing his hips still felt real and blissfully distracting as he washed up and started prepping himself. The feeling stoked flames up from the depths of him, his fingers stuttering over his own skin as he ran a hand down his front to the base of his cock. It swayed temptingly, aching for touch as he scratched at the thatch of curls there, hard and red and nearly weeping. 

He whined and whimpered as he pulled his hand away and reached for the shower tap. The noise echoed against the tile, and his knees felt weak. All of him felt weak, really. The flames inside him heated the blood in his veins, his hips thrusting minutely into the air at the rasp of the towel against his wet skin, and the tangle of thoughts in his mind were narrowing down to static. To static and _Nicolò._

There was a pair of loose, well worn sweatpants on the bathroom counter, fluffed up and folded. There was a bottle of lube— the one from Nicky’s duffle bag— and there was an unassuming bit of silicone tucked into the corner. It seemed to wink at him, and the weight of it in his hand nearly took him to his knees. He could swear he heard his Nico’s quiet huff of laughter, could feel his molten gaze on his trembling fingers as he traced along the length of the plug— the bulge of it, the tight little pucker before the flare of the base. 

He set the thing down on the bathroom counter, reaching for the lube as if moving through water. His hand floated through space— everything floated a little bit. 

He could picture his love where he was probably sitting on the bed— a book open in his hands that he wasn’t even reading, eyes periodically flicking up to glance at the door, one hand teasingly tracing the line of his cock through his pants. Waiting for him. 

Joe gasped, his breath punching out in tiny whines, utterly helpless with love at the image in his mind while he stared at his own desperate, blushing reflection. He was leaning over the bathroom counter, still naked and damp, his eyes glazed and wet curls falling over his forehead, lubed fingers out of sight of the mirror. It took every ounce of self restraint he had just to stretch himself, just to _get himself ready_ and not fuck himself back onto his fingers. They didn’t keep him full enough. They didn’t stretch him far enough. 

He whimpered, licking his lips to a shiny, slick red— they were bitten to a swollen mess, just to match the shade of pink that glowed high in his cheeks. He looked to the plug, slicking it up with shaking fingers and knowing it wouldn’t get him full enough, either. 

He whimpered again, electricity singing through him when the plug slipped in, straining just the littlest bit as the widest part fit itself past his rim. The tip rubbed just in the vicinity of his prostate, leaving him loose limbed and panting, unable to trust himself to bend down and put on the pants set out for him. It was even worse as he shuffled along the floor and out into the hall, naked and wanton, his steps feeling liquid and hips swaying in their joints. He ran his hand along the wall all the way to the bedroom door, his lashes fluttering and eyes half lidded as he rode the meager toy in undulating, infuriating circles, never getting quite what he needed until he opened the door. 

On seeing Joe— naked and flushed and wanting, leaning on the threshold— his Nico turned to scan his eyes over him, his hand moving languidly over his clothed cock where it tented his thin pajama pants. There was an old paperback forgotten on the comforter beside him. 

Nicky was just where he had pictured him, sitting at the head of the bed with his lips pink and parted, his head tilted back just a little to rest against the headboard. The pale line of his neck was exposed, and Joe’s slack lips curled into a grin. Just the sight of him sent a comfortable hush through his brain, a tingling sensation prickling through him from head to toe. The look on his face must’ve been dopey and glazed, because Nicky was chuckling on his exhale, smiling with a soft brilliance that made heat bloom in Joe’s hips— he _loved_ him. 

“C’mere, _Tesoro.”_ He beckoned, his voice no more than a fond sigh, “Let me see. Let me see you.” 

He didn’t even process his last few steps to the edge of their bed, or the first touch of the comforter under his hand as he climbed up into Nicky’s waiting lap. It was as if the world between point A and point B wasn’t real. It was like _he_ was nothing more than a mess of vibrating, floating atoms until his love was petting over his skin. The hot, hard line of his cock was radiating heat under the bare skin of his balls and the base of the plug in his hole. Joe whined in his throat, not even concerned with sounding pitiful or desperate— not with Nicolò. He could never be pitiful to Nicky. 

And he _knew_ it, when he blinked his hazy eyes open to see the open adoration in every line of his face. Nicky was taking in every inch of him, inspecting him. Joe couldn’t help the absentminded flex of his fingers, the shivery feeling in his mind that rippled out into his limbs and begged him to _touch._ He hummed a contented sigh, settling into his seat on Nicky’s lap and pushing his fingers into his Nico’s hair. 

His sea glass eyes fluttered and his smile was small and sweet. He leaned into it for a moment, indulging him while his hair went ruffled and messy, mussed by Joe’s shaking fingers. He stroked it back from his forehead, curling his fingers into it and giving a cheeky tug. Something inside him shifted— ancient and unchanged for centuries— when Nicky rumbled out an honest _growl,_ gripping his hips and _squeezing,_ hands wandering over his ass and down. Joe shivered, his inner thighs feeling hot and pliant under Nicolo’s attention. 

“Hands to yourself, beloved— _patience.”_ Nicky winked, his hips grinding up for a moment just to tease. Joe whined, and Nicky shushed him gently, running tender hands up and down his back as he kissed a line up into his beard. "What's our word if you need me to stop?"

"Malmo." Joe breathed out immediately, reveling in the pride in Nicky's kiss. 

"And if you can't speak?" 

"H-hit the bed three times." 

His lover hummed an affirmative, smiling. _"Good."_

His hands ended up twined around Nicky’s neck, gripping at the wide expanse of his shoulders like he might disappear if he let go. His body rolled through helpless waves of electric tension and boneless pleasure as his love trailed his fingertips up and down his spine, one notch at a time, his other hand slipping back between his cheeks to prod at the base of the plug. 

Whatever the sound was that Joe let out then, it was high and keening, barely muffled by his gritted teeth and his face buried in Nicky’s neck. 

Deft fingers at the rim of his hole teased him with a single nail, drifting around the edge before pressing properly on the base of the silicone, pushing the plug just _barely_ into Joe’s prostate. 

The noise he made was practically a sob, choked off by the last shreds of his rational mind. Nicky clicked his tongue and bit just a touch too hard at his earlobe, pulling the plug out _just_ to the widest stretch, making him pulse and clench and swallow around a moan. 

His calluses caught at his sore hole as he rubbed his fingers across the delicate flesh, setting a staccato rhythm of sparks through his bones. Joe shivered and shook beyond his control, clinging to Nicky with a ragged growl in his chest. Nicky kissed his temple, then his cheek, grinning into his curls and licking the shell of his ear, all while shifting the bulk of the plug from side to side and in slow circles, stretching Joe to a staggering capacity and somehow still leaving him feeling empty. 

“Oh, my _Yusuf…”_ he purred, his voice so tender, his accent thickening in a telltale sign of his own arousal, _“Tesoro,_ you don’t get my cock until you let me hear you.” 

There was something wild and caged in Joe’s chest that wanted to break free and _howl_ just for his Nico-- for his cock and his hands and his lips as they pressed hot, wet kisses over his throat and down his chest. He wanted to buck back into the hand holding the plug and shove it deep inside him. He wanted to beg and cry just to _hold_ him inside, in the deepest parts of him. 

“Let’s practice— yes, beloved?” Nicky was still cooing in his ear, and Joe nodded clumsily. His brain barely parsed out the words, his consciousness torn somewhere between floating above their heads, and rooted firmly in the tips of Nicky’s fingers as he gripped the base of the plug and _pushed._

Joe let his mouth fall open and a shocked noise was pulled out of his throat, the plug jostling his whole body into his Nico’s. Nicky aimed directly at his prostate, massaging the toy impossibly deeper into him while the thrust shoved his ignored, painfully hard cock into the friction of Nicky’s bare stomach. He smeared wetness on the soft, pale skin, and wanted nothing more than to rut into the gentle rasp of hair there. His head was starting to tangle again, getting tied up in the ribbons of choices, and he _whined._

Nicky pulled out the plug again, slowly, making Joe blush at the wet, needy sounds of lube in his slick asshole. He felt Nicky’s hum vibrate in his chest, overwhelmed by tender lips against his beard, then a hand carding into his hair. And then, he was being pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. 

“It’s not like you to be shy, My Yusuf.” He whispered in melodic Italian, “Let go, I’ll take care of you.” 

He thrust the plug back in, and Joe let himself shout and shake. His lashes were wet, his heart was hammering in his chest, and Nicky was _smiling_ at him. His thighs trembled with the effort of keeping them up for so long, arching back into the plug fucking him— he just wanted to sit on Nicky’s cock, he wanted to sit on it til he felt it in his throat, he wanted to feel nothing but _Nicolò_ in every part of him. 

“You will. It’s alright— I know what you need, I’ve got you.” 

His brain slowly caught up, feeling that his mouth was slack and his tongue was heavy, but somehow he’d been babbling. He’d been whimpering and begging, and he watched the endless play of tiny emotions flick across Nicky’s face as he pulled at the silicone, out and in as he plunged the toy in again. 

He ground his ass back onto the plug, digging his nails into the meat of Nicky’s shoulders, heat pricking his eyes. Each thrust drove a new sound past his lips, sharp shouts and cries of pleasure cutting through the constant stream of tremulous whining, his body trembling and cock _aching._ Joe was rutted into Nicky with each thrust, the friction of his skin on his cock and the drag of his balls against the threadbare fabric of those _stupid_ pants— he wanted to scream. He wanted to _scream._

The chaotic wildfire of sensation that ran rampant in his blood was suddenly in a sharper focus. It twisted into tight coils in his hips, ready to spring, to unravel. Joe was _sobbing,_ unable to parse out Nicky’s tender litany of encouraging Italian beyond a feeling. It was a feeling of heat, and safety, and _love._ So much love, Joe was beyond thought and function, dragging his nails down his chest and leaving red marks in the pale skin. 

He hovered in space, pulled back and forth by his Nicolò’s strong hands and gentle words, toes curling, reduced to shapeless sobs and moans. Time was a fluid thing and Joe was nothing more than a puddle, draped over the chest beneath him and trembling with the reverberation of their hearts pounding together, pressed completely flush. His burning hot, straining cock was sandwiched between their bellies, lighting up his nerves and making his muscles spasm with anticipation. 

He was so _close._

“Feeling good?” A velvet voice murmured through the haze, hot breath ghosting over his ear and making him shiver. He nodded with whatever body control he had left, eyes squeezed shut and fingers tucked into the waistband of soft pajama pants, fisting hard on handfuls of fabric. 

There was a brand-hot press of lips to his forehead, one last skate of calluses up his spine, and Joe heard an unmistakable command— _“Come for me.”_

It ripped through him like an electric shock, vibrating from the deepest parts of him and out to the tips of his finger and toes. A ragged moan punched out of him, the beast in his chest finally breaking free as his release unraveled, spattering their chests with hot come. 

He couldn’t hear or see, breathe or think, his limp body encompassing Nicolò where he was still sat against the headboard. It was all Joe could manage just to bury his face in his neck and hold on tight as the starbursts of light slowly petered out to blissful dark and quiet. There was nothing but overwhelmed static, the scent and feel of his lover all around him, and— 

And he let out a sob, clenching his hole around empty air. Tension crept back into his leaden muscles, and Joe squirmed, his mind slowed to a crawl and a sudden sensation of _loss_ swept up at the missing feeling of being _full—_

“Shh, shh, _Tesoro._ It’s okay, I’m right here.” Nicky’s voice guided, and Joe couldn’t even lift his head to look at him, his body two or three steps behind the rest of the world. 

Nicky shifted beneath him, shimmied his hips in a way that jostled Joe into his stomach again, and he bucked up into the sparks of overstimulation. He didn’t have the wherewithal to do anything but thrust weakly, relishing the tremors and the shake in Nicky’s voice as he talked to him, before a large hand was back on his hip. 

Joe was guided back down, blindly following, trusting his Nico to give him what he needed. 

The head was blunt and hot— so _hot_ against the rim of his stretched, sore hole. Joe sucked in a gasp, all air deflating out of him as Nicky’s slick cock fit itself past the ring of tender muscle. Both of his hands bracketed his hips, steadily sinking him down to sit fully on the length of him. 

Well past holding back—unable to even if he tried— Joe let out a long, keening exhale into Nicky’s skin. He kissed sloppily at all of him that he could reach, sucking marks into his flesh and listening to the rumble of his moans. Nicky’s head was tilted back again, his throat exposed to him, his pulse jumping under his jaw. Joe lifted his head just enough to nuzzle the spot with his nose. 

He was heavy and warm, finally free of cramped muscles and nervous tension. The tangled dancers of his overwhelmed mind were gone, even the staticky haze that had replaced it now reduced to nothing but shimmering vastness. Blank and bright, everything lost but the feelings of _full,_ and _loved,_ and _Nicolò, Nicolò, Nicolò._

 _“Tesoro mio…”_ Nicky sighed long and loud, his hands petting over his back, massaging the tremors out of his thighs, “You just rest now, hm? I’m here, we’re right where we belong. We’re together…” 

It was the last sound he heard for an undetermined amount of time, everything going syrupy and warm, nothing left but them— _together._

Joe could feel his lover’s cock deep inside, constant low grade pressure on his prostate, and then further, further in. He could feel him _everywhere,_ every time he shifted closer, or rolled his hips just to hear Nicky’s breathless groans. His cock throbbed inside him, twitching and stretching, filling him up until there was no world outside of the two of them, their heartbeats thumping as one in the cradle of Joe’s hips. 

They stayed there for what felt like hours, days, _lifetimes,_ just sharing breath and letting Joe float in the afterglow of his orgasm. Nicky massaged his knuckles and the heels of his palms into his back and shoulders, whispering sweet little words into his hair. Joe felt like the sun was on his face, soaking into his muscles and glowing inside his chest, taking long, slow breaths and breathing out sighs. 

After his cock started to stir again, twitching and thickening between them, Joe found the energy to lift his head a little from its place on Nicky’s chest. He peppered kisses across his collarbone and licked at the salty sweat in the hollow of his throat. His love hummed contentedly, his hand smoothing up his spine to play with the curls at his nape. 

“My Yusuf…” he sighed, a moan at the end of it as Joe rolled his hips in a tiny circle. His hole tightened and fluttered around his cock, sucking him impossibly deeper into the velvet-soft heat of his body. Nico gasped, his hands flying up to grip his hips, leaning away from the headboard and drawing his legs up close behind them. 

The shift in angle sent a flurry of overstimulated sparks alight in Joe’s gut, a long, shapeless groan falling easily from his lips. 

Nicky’s hand skidded up over his back to dig into his curls. His deft fingers tangled and tightened there, pulling his head up and back from its place buried in his shoulder, making Joe meet his molten, unwavering gaze. 

He’s sure he looks a mess, and is even more sure when something in his love’s face softens just a little. Nico coos at him like he’s comforting him, even as he shifts up to grind his cock that much deeper. Joe’s vision of Nicky’s face blurs as tears of pleasure prickle into his eyes, toes curling and breathless sounds filling the air between them. Nicky grins like he has a secret, and Joe shivers. 

He slips his hand around from Joe’s hair to grip his chin, tenderly stroking his beard before tightening around his jaw and guiding his face to meet his. Even if he had control over it, Joe didn’t have the motor skills to properly press his lips to Nicky’s. He was both blissfully full and completely empty, his mind nothing but starbursts of light and blank static. 

With their lips a hair’s breadth away from touching, Nicky let their warm breath mingle between them, teasing them both. The tips of their noses bumped, and Nicky’s haze hooded and longing— Joe wanted to please him, wanted to give him what he so clearly wanted, he wanted to _kiss him—_

But Joe couldn’t do anything but sit, impaled on the sinful length of cock inside him. And Nicky didn’t make a move to touch their lips, content to torture them both. 

When he finally closed the gap between them, it punched a moan out of Joe that trailed off into a desperate whimper— Nico’s wet, hot tongue had flicked out to _lick_ the tear tracks from his cheeks, tasting the saltiness of his pleasure where it had started to dry on his skin. Joe started to shake, desperate to ride him, but unable to move a single centimeter on that cock without pulling his face away from his lover’s attentions. He laved hot, slick saliva onto his cheek with kittenish licks and long swipes of tongue, alternating with slow, gentle kisses that smeared it all away. 

Joe was rock hard again, his hole clenching and flexing, milking Nicolò’s cock as much as he could— he wanted to be fucked and filled and lose every thought he’d had in the last _century._

His next moan was swallowed as Nicky used the grip on his chin to finally, _finally_ pull him in and plunge that tongue into his mouth. Joe kissed him and kissed him with what little of his motor skills he could still access, his sight dwindling down to the tunnel vision of just _Nicolò, Nicolò, Nicolò—_

“Let me have you, beloved…” came an Italian-speaking voice in his ear, and whether it was from Nicolò, some far away deity, or within Yusuf himself, he didn’t know. “You can let go, I’ll take care of you.” 

All he needed was permission, and he was gone. 

The tongue in his mouth, the cock filling him up to his throat, the hot brands of hands on his asscheeks, pulling him apart— that was all there was for Yusuf. They were moving now, those hands lifting and pushing him, legs somehow maneuvering them both, that cock never leaving him as he came to lie on his back. He didn’t know, he didn’t _care_ how it happened. What mattered was _Nicolò,_ and _Nicolò’s cock_ where Yusuf’s hips were propped up in his lap, changing the angle until he was sure if he looked down, he’d see the bulge of him in his gut— he felt deep. So, _so deep,_ and it was the only thing in the universe as his Nico began to move. 

The night outside their window was still and hot, quiet as a city could be, but their bedroom was full of sound. The hypnotic, slick rhythm of Nico’s full balls slapping against his ass; the creak of the bed under his sudden, bruising thrusts; the litany of old, _old_ language breathlessly murmured into Yusuf’s skin; and the hiccuping sighs and cries that came with every jarring thrust of Nicolò’s hips. Yusuf was too far away to hear them, and wouldn’t recognize them as his own even if he could— he was _found._ The very crux of his being was cradled in the capable hands of his lover, and he didn’t need to do anything but _be._

The climax was afterthought, a never ending pulse of electric energy crackling through the air and their bodies as Nicky started quickening the pace. He clung to him, the only other being in existence, and didn’t register anything beyond him until a strong hand curled around his purple-headed, painfully neglected cock. It had leaked a puddle between their bellies, but it wasn’t until right then that Yusuf bucked and gasped, aware of himself beyond the constant pressure on his prostate and the drag of Nicky’s cock in his hole. 

“Let go, _Tesoro—_ I’ll catch you.” The ancient italian words finally broke through to him, past the haze of pleasure and the thump of his heart, “I’m here, my Yusuf, take what you need…” 

And, with no more than three long, twisting strokes, the electricity snapped and condensed into lightning— his orgasm overtook him like a wave, crashing down and rumbling out through his body. He seized up into Nicky’s hand, his vision whiting out to blindness while all sensation was reduced to _Nicolò._

He held him. He held his twitching, pulsing cock with one hand, milking the head with unrelenting pressure. With the other hand, he cradled the small of his back, keeping him steady as he pistoned his cock into the vice-like grip of his hole, pressing hard into his prostate as he finally chased his own release. Yusuf felt the hot tears on his lashes and cheeks, running into his hair and beard as he finally let go, surrendering to the pleasure as he came and _came,_ drawn out over long minutes. 

His muscles completely gave out and he went limp, squirming weakly as Nicky finally pumped into him as deep as he could go and _stayed there._ His cock throbbed, pulsing long and hard as heat filled Joe to the brim and radiated through all of him. The inside of his eyelids held nothing but the shimmering peace that he’d sunken into when he first sat on his love’s beautiful cock, and Nicky’s body weight on top of him now was holding him down in that feeling— both empty and so, so full, floating away and still grounded to what mattered. 

Nicky was pressing kisses across his face, to his eyelids and forehead and cheekbones. His thumb traced oh so gently around the swollen lines of his lips, stroking his beard. Nothing was hurried, the last sparks of what they’d done still rippling through him, leaving him shaking and overwhelmed. Nicky’s touch held him together with hundreds of years of practiced touch and soft lips. He sighed, and Nicky chuckled a little against his throat, kissing along his sweaty neck and down to his come-spattered chest. 

He pulled out his softening cock in slow increments, guiding the movement with a gentle hand. Joe whined and whimpered, his hazy mind unhappy with the loss of his Nico at home inside him. 

“Shhh, shh, _Tesoro mio.”_ He cooed, petting over his sides and massaging his legs as he maneuvered his hips down from his lap. 

They laid there for a while, Joe trembling and Nicky kissing, until they couldn’t anymore. 

Then, Nicky narrated in sweet, quiet words every moment of his process as he bundled Joe up and guided him back towards the bathroom. He was attentive and warm, smiling and peppering every step with kisses and endearments that Joe leaned into like a flower into the sun. It managed to distract him just enough from the terrible emptiness where his Nico had been, and the grieving little pout on his face as the come inside him began to drip down his thigh. 

Finally, he was back in Nicky’s arms as he murmured “C’mere, beloved.” Lips kissed his forehead and hands carded through his hair for a steadying moment before he was being guided into the warm water of their full bathtub. 

Nicky slipped in behind him. He held their softest, most threadbare washcloth in his hand, swiping the come off his own chest with methodical strokes before guiding Joe to rest his back against the clean skin. 

Joe let himself continue to float as Nicky washed him with tender hands, his heartbeat a steady anchor that he could feel through his back. 

“How’re you feeling now?” Nicky finally asked, breaking the hushed spell over their apartment and bringing Joe just a little bit closer to the real world. 

He only nodded, eyes closed, as an indication that he was still alive where he laid. Nicky chuckled, massaging his nape. 

“That’s good… good to know I’ve done my job well.” He whispered, letting Joe continue to indulge. And he _could_ indulge— they’d done it before. Nicky had kept him down for days in their long and storied past, and Joe had done the same for him. He floated, remembering, arching back a little into the V of Nicky’s legs even though they were both far too tired. 

The hand submerged and resting on his upper thigh came around to pinch swiftly, making Joe jump while his Nico grinned against his shoulder, “You’re _insatiable._ Did I not wring you out, _Tesoro?_ Are you not satisfied?” 

He massaged over the sensitive inner thigh he’d pinched, fingers drifting up to the center of him. He was leaking Nicky’s come from his tender pucker, and his love hummed contentedly into the shell of his ear as he rubbed his fingers into the soft flesh. Joe squirmed and winced at the soreness of the muscle from just that small touch, and he gasped, huffing a laugh.

“Okay, okay— you’ve made your point.” He said on a gusty sigh, twisting around to close his legs and press his ear to Nicky’s heart. “I am satisfied, my love. With you, I am _always_ satisfied…” his eyes were hooded with sleep— not the exhaustion from earlier, but a deep contentment, every muscle wrung out to jelly. “You never cease to amaze me— the patience of a saint, Nico.” 

“Just a sniper, beloved— I don’t know how saintly that was.” He huffed a laugh, and Joe could hear his smile in his voice. 

He hummed, craning up to kiss his lover, softly on the jaw. He reveled in the warmth of the water and the feeling of a hand stroking his back, leaning into it as he grinned. “I dunno. Santo Nicolo— patron saint of satisfaction. I think that suits you.” 

His snort lit Joe up with that swooping sensation of _love_ that he knew so well. He chuckled, petting across his Nico’s collarbone as he listened to his heart and felt _at home_ for the first time since they walked in the door. Since the moment Andy decided that it was time for a break. 

They’d have to talk about it all soon enough. Nicky wouldn’t let it go unspoken, not when it was so evident that he was hurting about it. Joe sighed, pushing it all away in favor of the sensation of a grounding hand on the back of his neck and the afterglow of being _home._

The rest could be dealt with after their bathwater went cold. And after a good night’s sleep. 


End file.
